


overwhelming

by pennydown



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: And sex., Domestic Fluff, M/M, indrid cold gets pegged and duck gets eaten out. its hot, they also smoke weed, this fic started as cute domestic shit and ends with fuck, trans duck bc trans duck is best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-23
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-14 23:48:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17518163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pennydown/pseuds/pennydown
Summary: His hands feel good, and Duck wants them everywhere- but then he thinks about making Indrid melt, and he pauses to still Indrid’s hands. Indrid pulls back to frown, concerned, but Duck simply kisses his frown, shaking his head.“Darlin’, tonight I don’t want y’to lift a finger,” he whispers. Indrid’s lips are caught open in a breathless gasp, eyelids fluttering in surprise.“But-““Hush. ‘m gonna take care of you.”





	overwhelming

**Author's Note:**

> ❌❌MINORS DO NOT READ/INTERACT.❌❌  
> if you’re not 18 go away. i don’t make my nsfw content for you. don’t comment or kudos. it makes me uncomfortable knowing this site lets minors access nsfw but if you’re a minor go the fuck away. 
> 
> this one's for you indruck server.  
> [stefan snl voice] this fic has everything. domestic fluff. weed. pegging. duck getting eaten out. romanc

For the last few weeks, Indrid has been content to nest in Duck’s apartment- while it’s certainly not as comfortable as his extremely-well-heated Winnebago, it’s warm and safe, and Winnie keeps him company while Duck is at work or hunting monsters or spending time with, you know, other human beings. He’s content, still, to sit on the couch and sketch, until there’s a crash and the sound of broken glass from the kitchen, and he turns to peer over his shoulder. Frankie, in an attempt to jump onto the counter, knocked over a stack of glasses- and it’s then that Indrid realizes why people wash their dishes.

Duck’s apartment didn’t have a dishwasher, however, and as he frowns at the growing stack of plates, he wonders if the polite, courteous, domestic thing to do would be to, well, wash them. The only problem was that Indrid Cold has never really washed a dish in his life. He learned long ago that proper tableware was a chore, easily broken, and since there was no real sink or dishwasher in his trailer, there was no point in trying to clean them in the tiny sink. Thusly, he lived off of ( _mostly_ ) stolen paper plates and solo cups, which were surprisingly durable despite being touted as disposable. It’s strange, he thinks, that most humans wouldn’t follow in his footsteps and make the switch themselves- but then he remembers Duck muttering something about landfills and garbage, and it starts to make sense.

He contemplates this, while quietly sweeping up the broken glass and attempting to soothe the startled cat, before turning to frown at the dishes. From his continued studies of humanity, he knew that children were capable of washing them- and were often forced to by their parents- so it certainly wasn’t a difficult task, just one that Indrid had… No real idea on how to begin.

He was an adult, a ‘ _grown-ass man_ ’, as Duck often said, and so there was some level of humiliation waiting for him if he decided to do the smart thing and ask someone- but with the lack of availability on sources to help him ( _no easily accessible computer, surely no books on the subject_ ), he resigned himself to his fate of being mocked. The only problem was, well, who to ask. He couldn’t ask Duck, because the sweet thing would probably just shove him off and do the washing himself. Ned was dubious at best, and honestly, Indrid doubted the man’s own ability to keep a clean house, having glimpsed the Cryptonomica and the various assortment of hoarded objects inside. Aubrey was likely the _best_ candidate, especially considering her enthusiasm and ( _generally_ ) kind nature, but a quick glance into the timelines places her moments away from falling asleep in Dani’s lap, and Indrid was not about to get in the way of the sweetly, slowly blooming relationship.

“It… Looks like it’s up to you and I then, Frankie,” Indrid murmurs, turning his attention toward the cat. Frankie, helpful as ever, swishes her tail at him, curls around his ankles, and prances out of the room ( _presumably to fall asleep on Duck’s pillow_ ). “... Or, just… Me.”

* * *

 

Duck unlocks the door to his apartment. He’s frustrated, having chased teenagers with firecrackers around the woods all day. They were the worst kind of kids, the ones who laughed in his face when he told them to leave and egged his truck when they finally left. He didn’t even know where they got the eggs- but that was over, now, and he was ready to come home and curl up on the couch with Indrid- but that train of thought crashes and burns when Duck finds himself staring at the collosal mountain of bubbles pouring out of his sink, onto the floor, and, though it seems like a belated reaction at this point, his jaw drops.

“Indrid? A- Are y’okay?”

He doesn’t even know where to start- doesn’t know what to do in this situation, or how it happened, or why it happened- when he was a child, his mother, suburban and submissive, would do all of the household chores ( _while occasionally subsidizing them to Duck and Jane_ ). Now, of course, he lived alone, and so the only messes he had to clean up were his own ( _and, well, those relating to abominations_ ). Not comically-large mountains of suds that crackled as the individual bubbles burst.

“Oh! Oh, shoot, Duck, you surprised me-” enter Indrid, glasses askew and black tank top covered in cat hair. His hair is pulled back with a hairclip, and he looks exasperated, frantically trying to brush Frankie’s fur from his shirt. “Sorry, I was trying to lock Frankie up in the bathroom so she… Wouldn’t get herself covered in soap, or eat it… A startling amount of futures actually involved that.”

“Right,” Duck replies, absently, as he kicks off his shoes and hangs off his hat. Knowing now that there’s no immediate crisis, he can feel his startled expression slowly melt into a smile- and then a laugh. It bubbles from his lips before he can stop it, and he finds himself guffawing. Perhaps it was the frustration of the day, or the endearing thought of Indrid wrestling with Frankie, or the mountain of bubbles that easily fills his kitchen, but Duck’s nearly in hysterics, tears welling in his eyes as he cackles ( _much to Indrid’s chagrin_ ). “Wanna- hot damn. Wanna tell me what y’were tryin’ to do here, ‘drid?”

Indrid stares blankly at him for a few beats, confused, and though Duck loves seeing him so uncharacteristically befuddled, he loves seeing him laugh, more. And laugh he does, a small chuckle that he attempts to stifle with a coy hand. “I- Well, Frankie knocked some glasses over, which led me to think about doing the dishes for you. It, um. I suppose I’m not very good at it.”

By now, he’s nestled up to Duck’s side, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Duck’s mouth. The affection makes him melt, and he chases Indrid’s lips with a laugh. “Y’tried to surprise me, huh? Awful sweet of y’, Mr. Cold, but- how much soap did you _use_?”

Indrid’s trying to distract him by kissing him, but Duck can still hear him mumble “ _two cups_ ,” causing Duck to double over with a laugh. Indrid scoffs, feigning offense, and Duck waves his hand nonchalantly.

“Sorry, babe, ssngrk- _sorry,_ I just— Y’tried so hard. I’m- _thank you,_ ” he manages, straightening up and thumbing the tears from his eyes. Indrid huffs, but his lips are pulled into a grin, and they set to work cleaning up the bubbles. It takes _far_ longer than it should, and all of Duck’s paper towels and regular towels, but they finally get the mess under control. After that, Duck actually teaches Indrid how to wash the damn dishes. Finally, chores and cleaning done, Indrid tugs Duck toward his bedroom. Duck’s looking forward to sleeping, curled up next to Indrid, but then Indrid offers him some weed, and-

Well, what was he supposed to do, say _no_?

* * *

 

They’re seated across from each other on the floor beside Duck’s bed, assembling their supplies and pressing soft kisses to one another’s lips, to their faces, and Duck is stumbling through his stories of the day.

Indrid laughs, holding up a finger to bring Duck pause as he takes a hit off of their bong. Duck wasn’t really a fan of water pipes, but Indrid refused to let him smoke joints after one encounter that involved him burning his fingertip ( _‘you’re so fragile, what if you burned something else?’_ ). Duck watches his form, watches his eyelids flutter closed as he inhales, passes the bong to Duck, and exhales slowly into the air. His lips curl into a smile, after that, and he gestures for Duck to go ahead. He does so, inhaling slowly and loving the way it hits him, leaving his limbs numb and tension melting from his shoulders. It’s been years since he’s smoked with someone ( _despite Aubrey’s many attempts to get him to do so_ ), but he so quickly forgot the way that weed made things look like a movie. With the lens focused on Indrid, on his relaxed smile, everything else in the room is blurry. Out of focus.

And Indrid is beautiful. His hair catches the light _perfectly_ , and it looks soft and touchable and sits so nicely he looks like a model. Or maybe that was the weed- _yeah, probably that,_ Duck decides, though his attention has now shifted to Indrid’s face- to his eyebrows, usually hidden behind his glasses, but expressive nonetheless. His eyes, that also usually hide, but glance around the room anxiously as he views futures, that sometimes stare blankly when he focuses particularly hard, that are the most _beautiful_ shade of yellow Duck has ever seen. They’re gold the way an early morning sun is: warm and soft, so unique that every time Duck catches a glimpse, he stares- and when he catches Indrid staring at him _now,_ he can’t help but sigh, soft and romantic and swooning. Indrid is _so fucking hot._

“Hello,” Indrid says, soft and sweet. He’s grinning lazily at Duck, one eyebrow raised curiously. “What are you looking at?”

“You,” Duck mumbles, liking the way his voice sighs- thanks to the body high that relaxes him like a sedative, he can barely feel _nervous_ about admitting that. He shuffles across the floor to slide up to Indrid’s side, and Indrid smells good, smells clean like soap and spicy like cinnamon and the smell of his _skin_ is intoxicating. Absently, he presses kisses along Indrid’s shoulder, causing the seer to inhale a sharp, shuddery breath. “Y’so pretty, ‘drid,” he muses, tilting Indrid’s chin upward with his fingertips to kiss his neck softly, chasing his kisses with soft grazes of his teeth. It makes Indrid sigh, hands reaching and tugging at Duck until he’s settled straddling Indrid’s thighs.

“Duck,” he breathes against his lips, so soft Duck’s not even sure if he actually _spoke._ His lips chase Duck’s every time they separate to catch a breath, and he notices Indrid’s hands resting briefly on his waist before sliding lower, to his thighs, teasing and squeezing. It’s Duck’s turn to shudder this time, pressing hurried, open-mouth kisses to Indrid’s jaw. His hands feel _good,_ and Duck wants them everywhere- but then he thinks about making Indrid melt, and he pauses to still Indrid’s hands. Indrid pulls back to frown, concerned, but Duck simply kisses his frown, shaking his head.

“Darlin’, tonight I don’t want y’to lift a _finger,_ ” he whispers. Indrid’s lips are caught open in a breathless gasp, eyelids fluttering in surprise.

“But-“

“Hush. ‘m gonna take care of you.” Indrid always fussed over Duck, always chased his orgasms first and went down on him at any opportunity. He called him sweet things and kissed every inch of Duck’s skin with adoring reverence. Tonight, however, Duck wanted to adore _Indrid._ He was so beautiful, so perfect, and Duck wonders when the last time someone devoted themselves to him was. Tucking that thought away for later, Duck leans forward to kiss Indrid- this time he’s more insistent, all tongues and heat and _want_ and every time Indrid sighs or moans or gasps it sends sparks shooting up Duck’s spine.

Through a series of slow, easy movements and desperate kisses they _finally_ get onto the bed. Duck nudges Indrid to lay against the pillows, hands above his head, and once again settles on his thighs as he works the rather lithe man’s shirt off. “Duck, it’s alright— I _like_ servicing you,” he mumbles, protests falling weakly from his lips as Duck shifts to kiss his chest, feeling his heartbeat pound like a drum line.

“I know,” Duck quips, pausing in his ministrations to turn his gaze to Indrid’s face. His cheeks are flushed and he’s biting his lip. His hands have shifted and now are hovering near Duck’s hips, like he’s not sure he can touch. “I want tonight t’be about you, baby,” he purrs, one hand sliding and teasing down Indrid’s body to palm at his crotch. Indrid nearly jumps in response, hand flying to his mouth to contain his gasp. Wordlessly, Indrid nods, and Duck slides backwards, shifts so that he’s lying on his stomach between Indrid’s thighs. He takes his time shimmying Indrid’s pants off, pressing heated kisses to his thighs and bellybutton and hipbones, and when he’s finally pressing soft kisses to the head of Indrid’s dick, and the poor thing looks inconsolable. “Every part of y’ is so _perfect_ ,” he hums, kitten-licking at a bead of pre that threatens to roll down Indrid’s dick.

“ _Duck,”_ he whines, eyebrows knit together and mouth hanging open. Indrid’s face is deeply flushed, now, and he bites his knuckles after a moment. “Duck, I- _please_.”

By this point, Duck’s fluttered his eyelids closed and is focusing _really_ hard on not gagging while he sucks Indrid’s dick, and he can feel himself drooling, humming contentedly when Indrid’s hips buck beneath him. Indrid _sobs,_ throwing his head back and one hand gripping the headboard so hard he’s practically white-knuckled. They continue like that for a little while, Duck taking his sweet time working Indrid into a mess while Indrid sobs and moans and _melts._ Duck’s content to lay there and suck dick like he was born to do it, but suddenly Indrid fists at his hair and tugs gently, to get his attention. With a _pop,_ Duck slides Indrid’s dick out of his mouth, pressing a soft kiss to the side as he peers quietly at Indrid, curiously.

“Ah- hmn. As much as I enjoy this, I- I peeked into the futures, and if I come _now_ I’m not sure if you’ll- keep going,” he mumbles, head turned away to avoid Duck’s heated, pointed eye contact. “And if my- mmn… If my sights are correct, you’re going to— to, um, fuck me,” he whispers, breath coming in soft pants, lips parted in a pout.

“Aw, baby, ‘course.” Duck shifts to sit upright, leans forward to kiss Indrid as he fumbles blindly for the little metal box he keeps under his bed.

“To your left,” Indrid instructs, when he seems to notice Duck’s fumbling has gone on too long, and Duck’s fingers finally close around the handle. Pulling away from Indrid mournfully, Duck slides off of the bed to take his clothes off. There’s a moment where he loathes buttons and zippers and undershirts, and an even _longer_ one where he curses out the straps of his strap-on— they’re confusing and it takes _far_ too long to put on— but when he turns toward Indrid and sees him suck in a breath, it all seems worth it. “That’s new,” Indrid murmurs, still seated in the spot Duck left him, but ( _thankfully_ ) rid of his clothing. Duck flashes him a beaming smile as he climbs back onto the bed, and Indrid can’t seem to stop his hands from touching— Duck’s shoulders and waist and hips, his thighs and stomach and _hands_ , and he gently laces their fingers together.

“Got it just for you, y’know.” Duck’s confession comes softly, breathily, as Indrid kisses his knuckles, soft and slow and adoring. As Indrid fusses over kissing his hands, Duck shifts, moves to lay Indrid down just a _touch_ further, to spread his legs and hook one of the seer’s knees around his hips. Indrid’s shifted from kissing Duck’s knuckles to mouthing at his fingertips, just _barely_ sucking on them, and it makes something hot and heavy coil in his stomach. He’s woeful as he tugs his hand from Indrid’s grasp, apologetic, but when Indrid notices he’s using it to pop open a bottle of lube and delicately spread it across his fingers, a breathy giggle bubbles from his lips. “Y’ready?”

“Of course I am,” Indrid breathes, mouth dropping open with a gasp as Duck slowly slides his first finger in. He waits, quietly, for Indrid to adjust- and then it’s a methodical process of working him open, of hooking his fingers inside and listening to Indrid moan. By the time he’s at three, Indrid is arching off of the bed, tugging at Duck’s shoulders to kiss him desperately.

“What’s up, sugarpea,” Duck murmurs, pressing a series of heated kisses to the corner of Indrid’s mouth. “Is there—“

“— _something you want to ask me?_ ” Indrid finishes the sentence for him, breathless and needy, and though his eyes are nearly imperceptible behind the fogged-up glasses, Duck can _feel_ the intensity of his gaze. “Yes. Duck, please- _please_ fuck me, I- I need it, I need you, come on—“

Duck chuckles, teasingly hooking his fingers up once more to hit Indrid’s prostate ( _causing him to tense and jerk and wail, apparently not having seen it coming_ ) before sliding his hand out. Again with the lube, he makes quick work of sliding the substance all over the strapon, hands shaking with need and want as Duck Newton realizes he _is soaking wet._ He didn’t think he was much of a top, didn’t think he _enjoyed_ this that much, but the way Indrid Cold, a centuries-old myth, a seer, and easily the most beautiful person he’s laid eyes on, is moaning and writhing beneath him is like ecstacy.

It takes some maneuvering before Duck is properly lined up, now with both of Indrid’s thighs wrapped around his waist, and Duck presses sloppy kisses to his sternum, soothing, as he slowly presses into Indrid.

Indrid hisses a gasp through his teeth, adjusting as Duck continues entering him slowly, and then warbles a moan when Duck finally bottoms out, hips flush against his boyfriend’s. He rests one hand above Indrid’s head, lacing their fingers together, and the other rests, bracingly, on Indrid’s hip.

“Now, Duck— yes, I’m ready,” he whispers, answering Duck’s query before he can even say it, and Duck laughs, leaning down to kiss Indrid. Though he enjoys hearing Indrid loud and desperate, he likes swallowing his sounds with his lips more- they feel more intimate, like they belong only to Duck, and he takes his time rocking his hips back and forth. It’s slow, and easy, and the best part is he gets to watch Indrid’s face and listen to his sounds as he gets more and more desperate. His dick, which keeps bumping against Duck’s stomach, is hard and swollen and dripping, and _very distracting_. So distracting, in fact, that he doesn’t notice the stutters in Indrid’s breathing until he hiccups, mouth hanging open and lips trembling.

“How y’doin’, honeycomb,” Duck murmurs against his lips, pausing slightly to squeeze the other man’s hand. Indrid sniffs, and squirms, and shifts his head to the side.

“ _So_ good, Duck,” he whispers, breaths coming hot and heavy and gasping, like he’s just surfaced from underwater. He’s desperate and keening and slides a hand into Duck’s hair to hold him close as they kiss again, melting against one another and taking a moment just to _savor_ being together. Indrid is perfect- handsome and unique and gorgeous, funny and smart and, hell, _the man can see the future._ He’s unreal and ethereal and Duck cannot _believe_ that he has such a treasured, perfect thing in his bed.

“ _Nnh-_!”

Oh. Oops.

As Duck shifts to kiss Indrid deeper, to rock against him, Indrid’s dick slides against his stomach and the stimulation is enough to send Indrid’s back arching, teeth biting his lip to hold back a wail. As he turns his head, overwhelmed, Duck catches a glance at his eyes— they’re currently shut, but he can see the slight shimmer of tears, and his heart aches. Indrid’s too sweet, too dignified to beg, so Duck chuckles, pressing a final fleeting kiss to his lips before pulling himself upright, throwing one of Indrid’s knees over his shoulder and fucking into him deeper, harder, faster— a combination that has Indrid _literally_ wailing, head thrown back. “Now that’s a pretty sight,” Duck muses, hearing the heavy, gravely tone of his voice— and from the way Indrid _whines,_ he hears it too. “Y’so _goddamn gorgeous,_ Indrid. Look at you, handsome, fallin’ apart. D’you—“

“— _want to come_ ? Yes,” Indrid’s response is hurried and desperate, and as if to prove his point, he rolls his hips _hard._ His panting is heavy, now, like he’s just ran a marathon, and his nails dig into Duck’s shoulder blades. “ _God,_ yes, Duck. Please, _please,_ you- you make me feel so good,” he’s sobbing, now, gasping between words like he can’t get enough air. Duck bites back a groan of his own, from the way Indrid _writhes_ , and he’s doubling down, gripping Indrid’s hips so hard he’s sure they’ll find little crescent moons in the places his nails dig into Indrid’s soft, pale skin. He finds himself breathless, too, and for a few moments he can only hear their breathing, a soft slap of skin as he _rails_ Indrid, and then Indrid’s hands are scrabbling to his hair, and _pulling,_ and he gasps: “ _Now_ , Duck, now, I’m- _ah-_ I’m—!”

He tugs sharply on Duck’s hair as he comes, breathless and silent as he tenses and trembles, rather effectively painting his heaving stomach with streaks of white. He doesn’t seem to notice Duck pulling out until he’s far away, and he dazedly shakes his head, grabbing at him and tugging him back in. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he babbles, dreamy and dazed. Duck shifts to loosen the strap and wiggle it off- and then slaps his hand over his mouth when he realizes he is _really turned on._ He spends a few moments weighing his options: cuddle up to Indrid and blueball himself ( _not bad, but he is_ _really_ _turned on right now_ ), get himself off with Indrid watching ( _also good, and doesn’t make Indrid do any work_ ), or ask his lovely boyfriend to get him off. He’s stroking a hand through Indrid’s hair as he considers this, listening to Indrid’s breathing slowly settle back to normal, when his cloudy thoughts are interrupted by Indrid’s low, sweet voice, hazy and soft like a hot summer evening. “C’mere,” Indrid whispers, and Duck quietly shuffles closer.

“How d’you want me,” Duck asks, biting his thumb quietly. He almost feels _bad,_ asking Indrid to get him off after promising he wouldn’t lift a finger, but Indrid stares up at him dreamily, a big, dopey grin stretched across his face.

“My darling, I think I may die if you don’t sit on my face.”

Duck coughs, sputters, buries his face against Indrid’s chest, and makes a few short, aborted attempts at saying words. Said chest rumbles with a laugh, sending a shiver up Duck’s spine that he can’t quite control. The sigh that falls from his lips is hot and warm, and Indrid strokes his fingers slowly through Duck’s hair.

“Get up,” he murmurs, nudging pointedly at Duck’s shoulders. He feels like he’s trembling, achy and frustrated with need, and it takes all of his concentration not to just grind against Indrid like some kind of horny teenager. Indrid’s kissing every inch of skin he has, tugging him forward so that his knees rest on either side of Indrid’s shoulders. Duck’s right hand has been firmly situated over his mouth since Indrid got him to sit upright, and he almost doesn’t know what to do with himself as he stares down at Indrid, who has busied himself with kissing the soft, sensitive flesh of Duck’s inner thigh.

“But-” it’s Duck’s turn to protest, gingerly stroking Indrid’s hair. “This was--”

“-- _Supposed to be about me_ , I know. But Duck, I’m serious. I have been thinking- hm. I have been thinking about you _all day_ . From the second you got home I have wanted nothing more to get in between your thighs like this.” He sighs, dreamily, and his grin _oozes_ sexuality, pressing another line of heated kisses. “So-... Please, Duck. _Please_. I- I want to so bad, I want to—” His voice is husky, and from this position Duck can actually see his eyes: hazy and intense and staring directly at him. Duck wants to melt under it, but Indrid’s waiting for his response.

( _Even if he can see the future_.)

Duck nods, then, and though it’s kind of _super awkward_ trying to get his briefs off without falling onto his ass and appearing decidedly unsexy, he manages to, and once again finds himself straddling Indrid’s shoulders. The seer looks enraptured, smiling gently before he tugs Duck closer still and sets to work. His hands are settled on Duck’s ass, though one shifts, slides to Duck’s hand and laces their fingers together--

“Ah, _shit_ , ‘Drid-” Indrid’s eyes are closed, reverent and focused as he works, flat of his tongue against Duck’s folds and breaths hot against his skin. He’s been waiting _so long_ ( _and speaking of long, Indrid’s tongue is_ amazing), and Indrid looks _perfect_ between his thighs. The hand that isn’t squeezing Indrid’s for dear life slaps over his mouth when he sucks his clit softly, experimentally. Indrid chuckles warmly from beneath him, running his thumb over Duck’s knuckles soothingly. “Y’- Y’so good, _Indri-iid_.”

After a moment Indrid pulls away, panting heavily. Duck whines, chases his hips after the feeling, and then hides his eyes to groan in embarrassment. Indrid, on the other hand, laughs breathlessly, a sound that Duck would follow to the ends of the Earth. He continues his earlier task of pressing kisses to Duck’s thighs, though this time he sucks hickies against his skin. When he finally looks up at Duck, grinning with wet lips and flushed cheeks, Duck feels like he might as well be the only man in the world. Indrid’s so focused, so intense, and the sheer _adoration_ in his eyes feels like something out of some sort of romantic novel. “Oh, _Duck,_ ” he whispers, more of a swooning, fluttery sigh than words. “You are _so_ magnificent. You, mnh. Your taste is so lovely, a-and you are so _soft_ and warm and—“ He groans a bit at that, giddy, and his smile is easy and sultry all at once. “Thank you, baby. _Thank you_ ,” he murmurs, giving the pale expanse of Duck’s thigh a few more kisses before diving back in, and—

Oh.

Oh, _damn_.

Duck nearly howls as Indrid starts pushing his tongue deeper, face closer until he’s basically _fucking him with that perfect tongue._ It’s all Duck can focus on, walls of his apartment and thoughts of the day melting away, half-baked sentences and calls of Indrid’s name turning into loud moans.  It takes all of Duck’s self control not to reach down and yank Indrid’s hair, though as soon as he decides not to, nearly the second he does, he distantly notices Indrid’s eyebrows furrow.

_Sneaky bastard, reading the futures_ , he’ll probably quip later— there’s no room in his hazy mind to focus on anything except the tightly coiling pleasure he feels and Indrid Cold’s _goddamn_ tongue. It doesn’t take long for thought to leave all together, in favour of Duck’s hips twitching and rolling ever so slightly, his head tilted back as he sobs. “Yeah- _yeah_ , In—-Indrid, _Indrid,_ right— nmh— right _there_ , _Indrid_ —“

His orgasm hits him like a brick wall, and he can feel himself lurch forward, distantly remembering to lean a hand out to grab the headboard as he pants, gasps for air, tries to rewire his brain to think, again. Beneath him, Indrid shifts, and Duck barely notices that he’s being cleaned ( _baby wipes?_ ) and manhandled and moved until he’s left staring dreamily, sleepily at Indrid, who curls up under the covers next to him. “That was phenomenal, darling,” the seer murmurs, sliding up so close to Duck that their chests are pressed together, and presses a soft, sweet kiss to his lips. “Thank you.”

“Now— if I’m rememberin’ right, I’m the one who just came so damn hard I forgot my fuckin’ name. So what’re y’thankin’ me for?” An unfortunate side-effect of being fucked-out and sleepy was that Duck’s accent was about ten times thicker than usual, words falling from his lips feeling sweet and slow.

Indrid’s eyebrows raise in surprise, and a light chuckle bubbles through him. It rumbles in his chest and Duck can feel it— and he’s so impossibly fond of Indrid at that moment that he surges to kiss him again. Indrid melts against his lips, holds his face in his hands, and when he parts, lips only millimeters away from Duck’s own, his words are soft. “For taking care of me.”

Duck’s eyes widen. His cheeks flush, and he spends an inordinate amount of time staring into Indrid’s eyes, opening and closing his mouth as words fail to come to him. Indrid, perfect Indrid with his mystique and intrigue. He was perfect, with his lines and angles and perfectly soft hair, with his beautiful eyes and lips almost constantly drawn into a smile. His words take Duck by surprise, send his heart pounding away and skipping beats, and he finally has to bury his face against the crux of Indrid’s neck, taking shuddery breaths. He always knew he was something of a protector at heart, someone who would fight for his loved ones— but the confirmation, the _trust_ in Indrid’s voice— it’s overwhelming.

“Thank y’for loving me,” he whispers. “I love y’so goddamn much.”

“I love you too, my darling.”

Duck falls asleep in Indrid’s arms, feeling safe and warm and content— at least until Frankie yowls from the bathroom and they both stumble to their feet, rushing to rescue her and giggling the whole way.

**Author's Note:**

> this is who i am now, i guess, writing porn like it's nobody's business. this is a behemoth and thank you so much for reading
> 
> title from jon bellion's overwhelming
> 
> edit 3/19:  
> apparently people are mad abt the nsfw stuff in the amnesty tag? stay mad your fav taz characters fuck


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